Frostgate

314 AC

The walk down the mountain had been miserable.

Duncan Mormont never minded the cold before now. He'd been indifferent towards it. But now? He hated it with a fierce passion.

His breeches, damp after having been picked up and thrown into a puddle by his father, were now freezing. The mud that was now glued on his face, hair, and clothes had since matted and dried. His fingers and forearms were numb and red. If he stayed out any longer, they would turn blue, and if he hadn't gotten to a fire before nightfall, his fingers would go black.

Fortunately, Frostgate Town was practically within spitting distance.

Unfortunately, outside of the pouch of gold dragons he had, Duncan hadn't a single thing to his name.

Not even, as they say, 'the clothes on his back.'

Barely three hours prior, he'd watched as his father strode back inside Bear Keep, having effortlessly picked up his weeping and screaming mother over his shoulder as she tried to make her way to Duncan. She'd reached out a hand, calling for the guards to open the gates to let him back inside.

Lord Starag Mormont wasn't having any of it, though. He'd told them to ignore Lady Mormont, and that if they'd obeyed her commands, each of them would lose a hand. Then, without so much as a glance at Duncan himself, took his lady wife back inside by force.

Thalia had sent him a sympathetic look that said, 'We'll sort it out. We'll get you out of this. Don't worry.'

It was hopeless, however. Duncan felt it in his bones.

You bloody fool. You just had to go on and rave about Dragonfire. That's exactly what father needed to hear, wasn't it?

His father had helped the Starks overthrow the Mad King back in the day. Duncan's great-grandfather on his mother's side. Even Duncan knew, immediately after having said it, that retribution would come swiftly. His sister had warned him as much.

Less than an hour into his climb down the mountain, Duncan saw the four small black shapes descend from the top of the eastern tower of Bear Keep. They spread it out in various directions. And Duncan knew exactly what they were and where they were going.

Ravens. One for Westhelm, another for Vallenheim. Then two more for Winterfell and Dragonstone.

Letters meant for his loved ones. Aunt Dacey and Aunt Alysane would be ordered not to shelter him. The same went for Aunt Daenerys and his little brother, Jeor.

And the letter for Winterfell? It was likely a more formal announcement; his father telling Robb Stark about Duncan being cut off from the family.

It all meant he was fucked, anyway. Nowhere to go. Nothing. Nobody to shelter with.

He was well and truly on his own.

As he strode into Frostgate, having passed by the pair of confused guardsmen by the North Gate, he decided to bury those negative thoughts deep down until he finally had the time to root them up and analyze them, coldly and dispassionately.

First, what he needed was a place to warm his bones.

Mormont immediately set eyes on his target as he went into the town square, not paying attention to dozens upon dozens of eyes that were now set on him: the lumbering frozen mud-man who'd come out of nowhere.

He still heard their voices, though.

"Who's that 'un, then?"

"Must be one of them wildlings come down from the northern coast. Looks like a wildling, anyway."

"Don't keep themselves very clean, do they?"

"What d'you expect? They're naught more than beasts."

He paid them no mind. Or… at least he tried to.

Mormont glanced up at the tall, three-storied building that sat on the south end of the market square.

The Dancing Fox was easy to find by design. The establishment was partly owned by House Mormont; his family would get a sizable slice of the revenue the tavern generated. However, the main proprietor was a kindly, barrel-chested man by the name of Irving Akregar.

Irving had once been a man-at-arms who served in the Mormont household guard, though he'd since retired and had decided to go into the tavern business. Not long after Duncan's family came into wealth, Irving had made a pitch that Lord Mormont would've been a fool to say no to. In the end, the Dancing Fox replaced the old watering hole and became everyone's favorite haunt.

Mormont leveled his gaze at the ironwood sign that creaked gently above the main doors. It depicted a grinning fox performing a jig while he held a barrel of ale over his right shoulder, and a mug in his left paw.

He became unreasonably angry with the bloody sign. Duncan felt as if the damned fox was laughing at him and his misfortune. Fucking rodent.

Mormont stepped inside and no sooner felt a relieving blast of warm air that immediately began to melt the icicles that had since grown from his damp hair.

More eyes fell on him then. Practically the whole tavern was looking at him as if he'd been born with three heads instead of one.

Duncan cut through it all. He found the man he wanted to see standing just behind the bar wiping down a mug.

He moved past all the tables and the people seated. Even by the long hearth which glowed vibrantly, probably just having been freshened up with some more wood. Its heat was a blessed reprieve, but Duncan pressed onward.

He slammed his hand down on the counter, instantly getting the barkeep's attention. BAM!

Irving glanced up sharply. "Whoa, there-"

"King's Suite, Irving. If you don't mind."

"So let me get this right…"

It was a half-hour later. Duncan had since changed out of his wet opulent rags and into dry clothes that were slightly too small for him. He'd gotten properly hydrated with a few mugs of ale that warmed his insides. And now, he was washing the dirt and grime off his face and hair.

"Hmmm," He hummed along.

"You got a girl from another noble family with child," Irving said plainly.

"Yes."

"And you did this knowing full well that you'd be marrying Lord Stark's daughter?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't once think that it would be a terrible idea?"

Duncan sighed angrily as he glared down into the washbasin. He was finally able to see his skin in the muddied waters. "It wasn't my first time having another lord's daughter. I didn't see the harm in it."

"Aye," Irving nodded from his seat by the fireplace in the King's Suite. "Having women is one thing, of course. That's understandable. But getting them pregnant? Now that's quite another."

"I didn't think the Tallhart girl would get pregnant, Irving."

The older man chuckled. "Well, they do say that assumptions are the mother of all fuckups."

Mormont had half a mind to scold the barman right then and there. Instead, he simply let out another angered sigh before getting back to wiping the frozen mud off his chin and beard.

None of this was Irving's fault. He shouldn't get the heat for it all. Least of all from Duncan himself.

"So? What's the plan?" Irving asked. "Don't tell me you're going to have the girl take moon tea?"

Duncan practically whirled around. "Of course not! What do you take me for? I'm not about to kill a child! You should know me well enough by now, Irving." He turned back to the washbasin. "The problem… it goes deeper than that."

He let out a harsh breath before he continued. "Father's cast me out. I'm not to return and I've been cut out of the family. I'm on my own."

"Ah." Came the expected grimace, or at least Duncan felt that the older man had grimaced. "Now that's a problem," Irving said. "What did you say to him?"

"More than I should have." Mormont shook his head. The feeling of deep shame came back to him then. You fucking idiot, he said to himself as he glared down at his reflection. "Can't come home unless I bring back a prize for Robb Stark. Something to make up for it all. 'A gift worthy of the Kings of Winter' he said."

The barkeep had stood up from his chair. "Sounds like quite a lot to deal with." He said. "Duncan, you're like a little brother to me, but-"

"Don't worry, Irving. I'll be gone before nightfall." Duncan glanced back at the older man. He didn't want to put any more hassle on Irving's plate. It wouldn't be fair to him nor to the man's family.

No, Duncan had to leave Bear Island tonight. Elsewise, Lord Mormont would ride down from Bear Keep and bring all the Seven Hells with him.

Irving nodded, clearly relieved. "Aye, well… Thank you." He gave the hearth one last glance. "Feel free to wash up some more. I'll have some more clothes brought up. Anything else you need? Got the feeling you'll be away for a while."

Duncan thought to himself for a moment. "Spare clothes, and a good cloak. Some provisions too, if it's not much of a bother. Wouldn't want to cut into your winter stores."

"Bah! Not a problem." The older man grinned. "We get more than enough from the fishermen. Too much really. I'd be glad to see some space freed up for more ale. Be back soon then."

And with that, the barkeep shut the door behind him, leaving Duncan alone with his thoughts.

Almost immediately after Irving had left, Duncan fell into the chair next to the washbasin, cradling his head in his hands. The strong front he'd been holding fell on its own.

What in the Seven Hells am I going to do?

That… was an excellent question. And one that he didn't have an immediate answer to.

Was it feasible to wait his father out? Hope that he'd come around and let Duncan back into the fold? No, definitely not. His father wouldn't budge. Waiting for that to happen was a fool's game, no matter the silent assurances that Thalia had given him.

And his mother! Oh, by the Old Gods! Duncan felt yet another wave of guilt and shame wash over him. He recalled how his mother had wailed and screamed out his name as she was carried away by his father. It was his fault that she'd cried herself to bits. His fault that everything was like this.

How could he have been so stupid to let all of this happen in the first place?

Pride. Arrogance. Call it what you like. It won't change anything. You know what you need to do.

Mormont tried to bury that memory deep down as best he could. He didn't want to see his mother looking absolutely distraught. It only made him angry with himself.

He tried to collect his thoughts, exhaling a shaky breath. "I know what I need to do. I know what I need to do." He said repeatedly, almost as if it were a prayer.

What was it that he needed to do? He replayed the whole event itself. Everything from his initial ride into Frostgate with his sister, greeting his great aunt and cousins, all the way to the audience with his father. And to its very bitter end.

There hadn't been any other condition besides the one: find a prize worthy of the Kings of Winter. If he did that, he could come home.

Okay… okay… he calmed his breathing down somewhat. Where can I find a gift like that?

When nothing came to him… he was sorely tempted to punch a hole in the wall.

"Shit." He spat out at the floor.

A prize worthy of the Kings of Winter? What did that even mean? What constituted such an item? How was its worth measured?

In the past, Valyrian Steel was considered to be a kingly gift. It still was even today in most parts of the world, yet Duncan knew that House Mormont-and House Stark by extension-did not need more of it. If the Starks wanted some Valyrian Steel from his family's collection, then they'd get it.

They already had a weapon, Ice. Moreover, Robb Stark was Sword of the Morning. He had Dawn as his chosen weapon. There was literally no other weapon like it. A Valyrian Steel longsword might as well have been a common steel blade when placed next to it. No dice.

What of Valyrian Steel armor? It would've fit the bill perfectly. Armor made of the stuff was practically impossible to find. That said, the only suit he knew of was inside Bear Keep. Which meant…

Duncan scrapped that idea as well. There was zero chance of him getting back inside Bear Keep and somehow getting his way into the vaults without being detected. That place might as well have been the Iron Bank for all he cared.

Dragon Eggs? No, that wouldn't cut it either. Bronzie was the only female dragon he knew about, and she'd laid eggs only a year ago.

It was a rather bitter acknowledgment. Bronzie had laid a clutch of three eggs. It must've been by divine intervention that Duncan was away from Bear Keep when it had happened, and the eggs had each gone to his siblings instead. The fact that he was the only child of Lord Starag Mormont and Lady Rhaenys Mormont-nee Targaryen who did not have a dragon was astounding and absolutely infuriating to him.

The dragon eggs were out. The only other place he could get them was Valyria. And even though his father had gone there once, Duncan wouldn't consider it. Anyway, he didn't have the ride-or-die crew necessary to take it on.

A ship? No. The Starks had the fastest ship in the North. Not even the Ironborn could compete with Silence.

And gold? What use did the Starks have for gold? The North had prospered in the last decade. It was almost as rich as the Reach these days. Not a chance.

"Fucking hell." Duncan cursed to himself. This was shit, and he was shit for putting himself in this shit situation. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

More questions flooded his mind. Immediate concerns he simply didn't have the answers to.

He planned on keeping his word to Irving. He'd be gone by nightfall. But then… where would he go?

Aunt Dacey nor Aunt Alysane would host him. Not even if they wanted to. The respect they had for his father went that deep. No, he wouldn't try seeking shelter with them.

Aunt Daenerys? His little brother Jeor? Duncan didn't want to place that burden on either of them. So that option was out.

Mormont knew he had to go somewhere. Had to do something. But what would it be? Where would it be?

Very slowly, he looked up at the frame hanging over the stone hearth in the King's Suite. It was a whole paper map depicting what the Maesters called, 'The Known World'

Westeros and Essos were very clearly visible to him. As the flames from the fireplace clashed with the shadows, Duncan perked his head up as he inspected the map further. He stood up even and approached it.

What about Essos? He wondered. There… there had to be something… right?

Before, Duncan had never really paid much attention to the eastern continent. It wasn't entirely important to him. He only knew the names of each of the regions, and primarily of the Free Cities. Other than that, whatever else he'd need to learn, he'd learn on the job.

But now? Well…

Finding what he needed in Westeros would be difficult. People knew him here, and wouldn't want anything to do with him after he'd very publicly snubbed the Royal Family.

In Essos, though… Now that was a different story.

Was it possible? Almost certainly. There were bound to be loads of prizes and gifts he could find in Essos. But where exactly?

Duncan knew he needed to know more. Had to find out exactly where to look. Going to Essos without a plan was like asking a blind man to find a needle in a very large, very treacherous haystack.

The Citadel! Of course! He'd find out more information there without a doubt. It was, after all, the central hub of all knowledge within Westeros.

He'd go to the Citadel, find out about some random shiny bauble over in Essos, then head out and bring it back. Surely, everything would sort itself out from there.

Oldtown was his next target then. But how would he get there?

Was there a ship in the harbor he could sign on to? Maybe. More likely there was one in Westhelm. That was the big port, where most merchants came and went. Perhaps Irving might know something. Every sea captain who sailed to Bear Island walked into the Dancing Fox at one point or another.

Duncan nodded, satisfied with the plan of action in his mind, and stood up. He got back to cleaning out the last of the dirt from his skin and hair.

A few minutes later, he heard a series of knocks against the door. "Come in," he said.

Irving opened the door and stepped inside. He held some bundled clothes with one arm, and a large old leather satchel slung over his shoulder. Probably filled with rations and the like.

"Got a week's provisions in here. After that, you'll have to make do with where you are. Also some clothes. Might be a bit small on you, but they'll be snug in this weather." The older man said, then snapping his fingers as he remembered something. "Oh!"

Duncan watched as the barkeep walked over to the nearby cabinet. He opened it and pulled out a rather light orange fur cloak. "Fox pelts. Taken during the summer. Had my nan stitch it together, though it's a bit too big for me. Figure it'll look better on you."

Mormont accepted the offered cloak and tried it on. It hung over his broad shoulders and around his arms well. "It's perfect. You're the best, Irving."

"Bah! Just doing my job." The old man shook his head. "Now. Have you figured out where you're going? Got that light in your eyes."

Duncan said, with an apologetic tone. "I do. And… I've got another favor to ask if you don't mind. Would you know about any captains heading to Oldtown?"

The innkeeper paused for a moment. He folded his arms and glanced up at the ceiling in reflection, stroking his beard occasionally. "Hmmm, I might know some…" He said, then looking back at Duncan. "Aye… think an old mate of mine has got a boat out in Westhelm. Trades back and forth between there and Oldtown."

"Any chance he's still there?"

"Perhaps. He came in a couple days back, though. Might be out to sea by now."

Might… It might be gone, but the other man wasn't completely certain.

That was exactly what Duncan needed. A lead! Something to latch onto, and quickly. Besides, if the man had left for Oldtown already, then Duncan could simply find another ship headed for Lannisport or even Sunspear. From there he could find another craft, or travel by land.

"That's fine," He told the barkeep. "I'll need the name of his vessel, and…"

"What?"

Duncan gave the older man a slight smile. "Mind if I buy your fishing boat?"

Rowing to Westhelm had easily taken the rest of the day.

Irving had wanted to give Duncan the fishing boat for free. Instead, Duncan had given him five gold dragons. Which, considering that practically every inhabitant on Bear Island had been taught to build a sturdy watercraft at the age of five, was quite a steep price to pay.

But Mormont needed to get off the island, and fast. There wasn't time to mess about in the tavern feeling sorry for himself. He didn't want anyone's pity, nor their sympathy. He'd put himself in this mess, and he'd do his utmost to get himself out of it, even if it was the last thing he'd do.

He'd arrived on the northern side of the gigantic metropolis by the time the sun was beginning to set and docked in a quiet little corner of the Fishing Harbor.

From there, he'd gotten out of the boat and made his way over to the 'Mercantile Harbor' or so it was called on many of the city maps. Though he was almost inhumanly tall, he wasn't noticed very much by the people roaming up and down the streets. These people were tired after a long day's work. They likely didn't care who they passed by at this hour.

It suited him just fine, even if he was exhausted. A short walk later, Mormont quickly found himself looking down the long stone brick pier and the countless wooden branches that jutted out towards the Sunset Sea.

Irving's friend commanded a brig called the 'Sweet Maiden O' Light'. Probably named after some fishwives's tale or something. He would recognize it by the figurehead on the ship's bow: a comely, but modestly dressed young woman holding her hands up so as to cup the sun in her palms.

Mormont decided to ask the remaining workers in the harbor if they knew where the ship was moored.

A pair of longshoremen cruised by, likely on their way to the tavern. He stopped them. "Sweet Maiden O' Light?" One said, repeating his question. "Oh, of course! Only been seeing 'er in my dreams!"

The other laughed uproariously.

Mormont hadn't found it funny, however. He thanked them both and stormed off down the pier.

From the few remaining dockhands roaming about, a few had answered his question seriously. The brig was down at the south end, shouldn't miss it. Very noticeable craft. Hull was painted in dark green, meanwhile, the figurehead was so white it might as well have been made out of marble. Obtrusive-looking thing is what it was. Particularly hard on the eyes and all.

Duncan was starting to have doubts. Nonetheless, he thanked the sailors for their time and left, making for the bottom end of the harbor.

Sure enough, he found it.

The brig was an old, tired thing made out of faded green wood and rusted iron nails. Oh, it would hold in a storm, no doubt. But Duncan certainly knew it had seen better days.

A few crewmen had been making their rounds on the deck by the looks of things. Mormont went out onto the wooden dock and boarded the plank cast aside for it, making himself known to them.

Men were taking apart the stacked pile of wooden crates, and hauling them below deck. Others were sweeping, and a few more had been tying rope.

Automatically, Duncan knew that whoever captained this ship made damned sure that the crew were kept busy. That's a good sign then.

"Oi! You, Foxhead!"

Duncan instinctively turned around and found himself looking up at a rather stern-looking older man wearing a long leather coat with a fur collar. An arming sword was sheathed on his belt, and he wore the hard-earned, grizzled beard that accompanied most older warriors.

"What you doing on my ship, eh? This ain't no freakshow. Either get off, or we'll toss you overboard."

"I mean no disrespect.." Mormont said. "A friend told me you were sailing for Oldtown. I hoped that I might sign onto your crew for the journey."

The man-who Duncan had now assumed was the Captain-had carefully descended the set of wooden steps from the helm. He approached Duncan now, with caution in his grey eyes. "Hmm… and just who might this 'friend' be, eh?"

Mormont said the name easily. "Irving Akregar. Up in Frostgate."

The grey eyes went wide with surprise. "Irving? Ah, old goat sent you, then?" He looked Duncan up and down. "Aye, could be. How well are you at sea, lad?"

"I can handle myself."

"Hah!" The Captain spat out a clot of saliva at the deck. "Most of these louts say the same. What I meant was…" He took a step closer. "How good are you in a fight?"

Duncan shrugged. "My father taught me to stick them with the pointy end."

His off-hand comment had gotten exactly what it deserved. The Captain let out a harsh bray of laughter, even going so far as to slap his knee out of sheer amusement.

"Aye, that'll do it." The older man finally offered his hand. Duncan took it and gave it a firm squeeze. "Captain Alverston. Glad to meet you, son. Aye, I can do with another crewman. As a matter of fact, I'll need someone to help get all these crates down into the hold before we head out for Lannisport on the morrow. May even need another sword in case the Ironborn get any funny ideas and all. Think you can help with that, lad?"

Duncan nodded. "Aye, I think I can."

It had taken them eight more hours to fully load the ship's cargo hold.

Very early the next morning, just before the sun was to rise, Mormont fell into his hammock completely exhausted from the punishment the day had given him. He knew full well that, within three hours, he'd be woken up again as the Sweet Maiden O' Light cast out from port.

He didn't care. Not in the least.

All of what happened quickly faded away from his memory as he felt the brig rock gently back and forth with the rolling water. Nothing mattered anymore. This was home now. And, regrettably… it would be for the foreseeable future.

Duncan Mormont cast aside the ache he felt deep down. The stresses of knowing that he had nothing, not even the safety net of his own family to rely on… No, he couldn't think about that now. It would destroy him.

Instead, Mormont sent his thoughts out to one of the many bright memories he had in the palace that was his mind. He watched as a young woman spun herself in circles before him.

There was a winter rose in her hair woven into her braided curled brown hair. The frosted blue petals were healthy and vibrant.

Just before he fell asleep, she stopped spinning and turned to him.

And she smiled.